


F.E.A.R. is an Acronym

by WriteDragon (lightspire)



Category: due South
Genre: Chicago Lore, Chicago Slang, Chicago history, Ghosts, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightspire/pseuds/WriteDragon
Summary: Ray invites Fraser to go on a self-guided tour of some of Chicago’s more notorious haunted places, but it’s definitely (not) a date.





	F.E.A.R. is an Acronym

**Author's Note:**

> Title from: “... fear is actually an acronym for Fuck Everything And Run.” – Stephen King, Bag of Bones, 1999.
> 
> Written for the DS_flashfiction community on DreamWidth, for the “Chicago Lore Challenge”.

 

Thunk, thunk, thunk.

Fraser was so engrossed in filling out his 10989B form that he barely heard the knocking on the open door of his tiny Consulate office.

“Hey, Fraser.”

It was Ray, leaning against the door frame, chewing on a toothpick.

He took three steps forward, covering the short distance from the doorway to the desk, dodging a stack of file boxes as he walked.

“I was wondering if you’d … um …” Ray stammered. He stood next to the single guest chair, idly tapping his fingers on the wooden back.

Fraser folded his hands together and waited patiently for Ray to find his words. “So, uh, d’you believe in ghosts?”

Fraser stilled, his spine gone rigid. He quickly glanced around his cramped office, wondering whether his father’s apparition was nearby. It wasn’t.

“To clarify — are you inquiring about whether I believe in real ghosts, i.e., spirits or shades originating from an undiscovered country, from whose bourn no travelers return? Or are you referencing pirates who dishonor the dead by pretending to be ghosts, or, are we discussing the —  purely speculative, I might add — hallucinogenic projections of a damaged psyche?”

Ray raised his eyebrows, blinked, and shook his head like a dog after a bath, as if to throw off the rain of words that had just fallen from Fraser’s mouth.

“Real ones.”

Fraser nodded. “Ah. I see,” he said, trying to control any hint of nervousness in his voice. “Why do you ask?” Was the game up? Had Ray finally deduced his particular brand of madness?

Ray dropped a brightly colored, slightly crumpled, glossy brochure onto Fraser’s desk blotter. Fraser picked it up. “ _Haunted Chicago: A Self-Guided Driving Tour_ (Compiled by H. B. C. Dresden)” it read, in a jagged font borrowed from the Addams’ Family.

“Dunno. I thought maybe we could go check out a couple, two, three of those places. I grew up hearing stories. Not the kinda thing I’d do alone. But since you’re here …  How about it — you wanna come with?”

Fraser mulled this over. Considering how many ghosts routinely appeared inside his office closet, did he deliberately want to seek out new ones? Strange phenomena —spirits, psychics, and unlikely coincidences of all kinds — seemed to follow him around enough as it was. The line in Fraser’s mind between fantasy and reality, fact and fable, was already whisper-thin; testing that line by going on a ghost hunt was probably just asking for trouble.

After several seconds of silence, Ray began chewing his toothpick again, stuffed his left hand into the pocket of his brown leather jacket, and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“If you want to, I mean ...” Ray raked his free hand over the back of his neck, scratched it twice and looked down. “Never mind, it’s a stupid idea … I get it if you don’t. We see enough dead guys on the job.”

Fraser’s gut clenched as a wave of guilt washed through him, and he unconsciously reached up to rub his left eyebrow. His reticence had made Ray feel rejected and anxious, and he never wanted that.

“I’d like that very much, Ray,” Fraser said, schooling his features into what he hoped was a conciliatory expression. He wished to make amends for his friend’s moment of suffering, to ground the nervous lightning he saw building in that taut, wiry frame.

Ray paused in the middle of his restless dance and looked up again, catching Fraser’s eye.

“You would?” The broad grin on Ray’s face lit up the room like a flashbulb going off.

Fraser couldn’t help but smile back. It was worth anything, even the risk of additional hauntings, to see that smile.

“Absolutely.”

“Greatness,” Ray said, grinning again. “How about tonight? I’ll drive.” He bounced a little on his booted toes.

How Ray could bounce in motorcycle boots, Fraser could never quite fathom, but somehow he managed it. Tiggers were wonderful things.

“That would be more than acceptable, but I insist you let me buy you dinner beforehand.”

“It’s a date then?” he paused, and gestured vaguely in Fraser’s direction. “I don’t mean a date-date, I mean a … whatchacallit … appointment ...” his voice trailed off.

“It’s a _date_ , Ray,” Fraser said, his voice calm, deadpan.

Ray studied Fraser, narrowing his eyes.

Fraser took a secret guilty pleasure in the bemused look on Ray’s face as he attempted to decide whether Fraser was flirting with him, teasing him, or something else.

Ray dropped his shoulders and straightened his back, apparently having given up trying to figure it out. “Yeah. Ok. Whatever. Pick you up at seven. Dress casual.”

“I look forward to it,” Fraser said, flicking his tongue across his lower lip.

Ray’s gaze followed the motion and his eyes went wide for a fraction of a second before he blinked again. A rush of pink rose to his ears, right up into the blond fringe of his hair. He swallowed, spun in place, and headed for the door.

Fraser barely suppressed a smug smile as Ray swaggered out of the room.

——————--

Ray shuddered as he flipped the blinker, signaling a left turn as they waited for the light to change. Fraser caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at him. Ray was gripping the steering wheel of the GTO, knuckles white, the muscles of his shoulders and face tense.

But why was Ray in distress? A fraction of a second later it dawned on him: they had just driven past the first stop on the Haunted Chicago tour, site of the SS Eastland steamship disaster, where 844 passengers and crew had died in a single tragic accident. The memory of nearly drowning on the Henry Allen must still be traumatic for Ray.

Fraser grimaced and mentally kicked himself for yet again failing to anticipate his partner’s emotional needs. This was not the most auspicious way to start their evening. He would have to do better. One way or another, he would find a way to make it up to him.

“Are you all right?” Fraser reached out to touch Ray’s shoulder, stroking and patting it gently.

“You kidding?” Ray pretended to be offended. “I’m good. Seen worse stuff on your average Saturday night.”

Which was not true, fortunately, but Fraser took the hint and dropped his hand just as the light turned green.

“Remember that zombie case?” Ray asked, changing the subject and pulling through the intersection. “Was that freaky or what?”

“Indeed,” Fraser said thoughtfully, “it was. Although no actual ghosts were involved, as I recall. Only a vile criminal manipulating people’s beliefs and a bit of showmanship.”

“Yeah, that guy was a real jagoff. Still freaky, though.” Ray shuddered again at the memory.

“True. Nevertheless, I want you to know that if you should spot anything ‘freaky’, as you put it, or if you become unsettled and feel in need of comforting, I am here for you.”

Ray stared at Fraser for a second, decided he was having his chain yanked, and barked out a laugh.

“Ha. I ain't afraid of no ghosts. Any come near me, I’ll kick ‘em in the head.”

“In my experience that’s not an effective deterrent,” a gravelly voice said from the back seat. Bob Fraser’s ghost sat in the middle of the car, leaning forward, his arms braced on the backs of the headrests. “Your foot’ll go straight through, which is frankly insulting, but there it is.”

Fraser groaned. “Not now —”

“What?” Ray asked.

“Nothing, Ray. It’s not important,” Fraser said, pointedly ignoring his father. “Oh, would you look at that — here we are, stop Two, the Chicago water tower, the second oldest such structure in the United States. Apparently it is haunted by the ghost of a tireless worker who kept the water pumping during the infamous Chicago Fire. He reportedly hanged himself rather than risk burning, but the body was never found.

“Hogwash,” said Bob. “I bet he ran off to Toronto with a chorus girl, and lived to the ripe old age of seventy-two with ten grandchildren and a dog named Rascal.”

“Seriously?” Fraser asked, shaking his head.

“How should I know? You’re the one with the brochure,” Ray said, slowing the GTO in front of the water tower. He craned his neck to look out the windshield.

“I’d settle for two grandchildren. Maybe three.” Bob folded his arms, leaned back in the seat, and sulked. He looked at Ray then back to his son and added, “You could always adopt, you know. They let you do that sort of thing now.”

Fraser massaged his forehead in frustration. “We are not having this conversation.”

“Okay, okay, don’t get your boxers in a wad.” Ray gestured towards the brochure in Fraser’s hand. “Where to next?”

“No, I didn’t mean …” Fraser took a deep breath, clamped his mouth shut and shined his penlight on the paper.  “Our next destination is the Hull House Museum, which is a memorial dedicated to social reformer Jane Addams, the first American woman to receive the Nobel Peace Prize.”

“What’s that got to do with ghosts?” Ray asked.

“It is allegedly haunted by several spirits: a man dressed in monk’s robes; Mrs. Charles Hull, better known as The Woman in White; the spirits of three little girls playing in the fountain outside; and a so-called ‘Devil Baby’, replete with scales, horns, and hooves.”

“Replete. Is that like germane?”

“I don’t want any devil grandkids,” Bob said, “just three chubby little cherubs. Or four — now there’s a nice round number.”

“You know,” Fraser began, desperate to regain control of both the conversation and his grip on reality, “the Tsimshian have a similar tale of a half-beast, half-human wild man who inhabits the woods, calling out through the forest to the unwary.”

Ray merged back into traffic. “If you tell me it eats princesses I’m not listening.”

“Understood.”

——————

The museum was closed. Spotlights outlined the peaked roofline and cast eerie shadows against the red brick façade.

Ray peered over the dashboard, searching the front of the building for signs of ghosts. Fraser rolled down the passenger-side window to hear better. He could just make out the sound of water splashing in the fountain in the small park out front, barely audible beneath the hum and hiss of the street. He closed his eyes and listened intently. Was that … girls’ laughter?

“I don’t see anything,” Ray said. “How about you? Seen anything weird yet?”

Fraser shot a glance at his father. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“That was uncalled for, Son.”

“You calling me weird?”

Not again. “Of course not, Ray.”

“Then what’re you saying, exactly?” There was an edge to Ray’s voice, a hint of a snarl.

That settled it. Fraser wasn’t going to let his father ruin his evening, or worse, damage his friendship with Ray. He had to fix this. If it meant flirting in front of his father, then so be it. It was worth the risk, if it meant keeping Ray happy.

“You, my friend, are as handsome as ever. In fact I fully intended, but neglected to mention earlier, that your hair is especially fetching this evening.”

It took Ray several seconds to decide what to make of that. When a small smile crossed his lips, Fraser nodded in satisfaction.

“This is getting boring.” Ray slid a finger over his ball-chain bracelet, fidgeting. “No devil babies, not even one ghost.”

“Hey!” Bob protested, waving an invisible hand in front of Ray’s eyes.

“Why are you still here?” Fraser said, exasperated.

Bob shrugged. “You tell me, Son.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” The look of betrayal in Ray’s eyes stung Fraser’s heart to the quick.

“Nothing. I didn’t mean anything by that. I apologize.”

“Apology accepted,” Bob said.

Fraser let out a faint whimper of frustration. This was getting ridiculous.

“Geez, Frase. You’re giving me whiplash here.” Ray reached into his pocket for a stick of gum. “One second you’re being nice to me, and the next you’re telling me off. If anyone’s acting weird tonight it’s you.” Ray unwrapped the gum, popped it into his mouth and began chewing. A whiff of spearmint filled the air. “More than usual — which is saying something. You sure you’re okay?” He poked Fraser in the chest with a finger, leaving a warm spot on the soft flannel. “Had one too many bark teas, or what?”

Gum-chewing was one of Ray’s nervous habits, and Fraser felt another twinge of guilt for adding to his partner’s discomfort. He had to make this right. But how? Ah. Yes. The park. A walk in the park would help to clear his head and give Ray a chance burn off some of his restless energy.

“I’m fine, Ray. I suggest we go to Lincoln Park, which is reportedly full of ghosts due to large numbers of unmarked graves there. Parts of it, including the zoo, were built atop an old cemetery.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ray shifted the GTO into drive and pulled away from the curb. “I bet we can find something spooky there. I got dibs on kicking any ghosts, though.”

“In your dreams, Yank,” said Bob.

“Would you please be quiet?”

“Hey. That’s not buddies.”

Fraser sighed. “Again, I apologize, Ray. I wasn’t speaking to you.”

“What, we pick up a hitchhiker or something?” Ray looked warily at Fraser, flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror, then back to the road.

“Something like that.” Fraser scowled at his father.

“I’m just trying to be helpful,” Bob replied. “I keep telling him that kicking won’t work, but he refuses to listen.”

“What I meant to say,” Fraser continued, “is — please feel free to go wherever you want. We can do anything you desire.”

“Anything, huh? You sure?” Ray gave Fraser a suggestive look.

Fraser blushed and tugged his earlobe, hoping his father hadn't seen that.

He had seen it. “Good Lord,” Bob said. “He’s got it bad for you, Son.”

Fraser cringed. It was mortifying enough that his father was still in the car with them, let alone commenting on Fraser’s romantic assignations. Fraser wondered briefly if his father was trying to send him to an early grave — death by embarrassment — just so he could have the company.

“Okay partner,” Ray said, giving Fraser another sideways glance, “but if you keep acting like you’re unhinged, I’m taking you home. Either that or the psych ward — “

“I assure you that I am no more delusional than usual. But if you wish to take me back to the Consulate I understand.” He glared at his father again. Bob Fraser’s ghost seemed to be doing his utmost to ruin his time with Ray.

“Make you a deal,” Ray said, drumming on the steering wheel, “one more stop at Lincoln Park, then home.”

“As you wish.”

—————————

Ray shifted the goat into park, shut down the engine and climbed out of the driver’s seat. He twirled his keys on one finger before deftly slipping them into his pocket.

Fraser mouthed the words “Go Away” to his father’s ghost, closing and locking the car doors as he followed Ray into the darkened park grounds.

“A locked door never stopped me,” Bob said to the empty air where Fraser had been, “except that time back in ‘81 when I mistook a meat-freezer for the washroom. Go Away, indeed.” He let out a huff, and vanished.

“Would you like me to tell you about the history of this location, Ray?” Fraser asked as he caught up with him.

“Go for it.” Ray slung an arm around Fraser’s shoulders, matching stride with him as they walked.

The weight of Ray’s arm on Fraser’s back felt warm, and easy, and, well, _right_. He smelled good, too — mint gum, leather and aftershave. The combined effect was exceedingly distracting. Fraser completely forgot what he was going to say, or that he had planned to say anything at all. They walked for a few minutes in silence, enjoying the relative quiet and stillness of the park.

Tall trees, their branches silhouetted against the night sky, overarched the path. Streetlights punctured the dark with pools of yellow, peppered with fluttering moths that flitted in and out of the light. The damp night air had a chill to it, and a foggy mist covered the ground, speckling the grass with dew.

“So? What, no long stories?” Ray asked, breaking the silence. “That ain’t like you. Cat got your tongue?”

“What?” Did Ray say something about _tongues_? An image of shoving Ray up against a tree and kissing him sprang to mind, unbidden. Oh dear. Fraser cracked his jaw and cleared his throat. They were here for ghosts, not for … no, no, don’t think about that. Focus.

“Right. Yes. History. As I mentioned earlier, the park is the site of an old cemetery. Eighty-one bodies were unearthed during construction of the barn at the zoo.”

“That’s disgusting.” Ray dropped his arm from Fraser’s shoulder. “Way to kill a mood.”

“I didn’t realize there was a mood.”

“Figures,” Ray said, smirking. “You can track a snowflake in a blizzard, but when it comes to picking up signals ...” he waved a hand over the top of his head. “Whoosh.”

What? _Oh_. Fraser blushed and tugged at the collar of his Henley.

Ray patted Fraser’s arm. “It’s ironical, you know. After all, _you’re_ the one who insisted this was a _date_.”

Fraser coughed. “Ah. Yes, I did.” _Oh dear._ His eyebrows were getting quite a rubdown now. “Speaking of dates, you may be interested to learn that many visitors have reported seeing apparitions dressed in attire from the 1800s.”

Ray rolled his eyes and Fraser winced at his own awkwardness. Fraser was no virgin but sometimes he felt — and acted — like a nervous teenager. It was, frankly, both vexing and humiliating.

“That’s cool, I guess. Old ghosts are the best ghosts,” Ray said, taking the change of subject in stride.

“Is that so?”

“New ones are kind of a buzzkill, if you ask me.”

Fraser could not have agreed more. He opened his mouth, about to comment, when a piece of shadow separated itself from the blackness and leapt across their path.

A half second later, Ray was in full firing stance, his gun drawn, cocked, and ready to shoot.

“It’s just a stray cat. _Felis_ _catus_ ,” Fraser said calmly, grateful it wasn’t a mugger.

“Black cat. Bad luck.”

“I didn’t know you were superstitious.”

“Yeah, well, I am. A little,” he said, holstering his weapon. “You hump this job long enough, it does things to you … but you know that.”

“Unfortunately, I do.” Ray didn’t know the half of it.

Fraser peered into the shadows. The cat had seemed real enough, but there was something else nearby, lurking in the dark, just on the edge of consciousness. The wall between planes of existence, between real and not-real, felt tenuous here, somehow — thin as glass and just as brittle, like the ice that formed on a lake after winter’s first hard freeze — translucent and tempting to walk on, but deadly.

A presence shimmered at the periphery of Fraser’s vision, a thing he couldn’t quite name …

“Dad…?”

Out of nowhere, a blast of icy cold wind struck them, nearly knocking them down. It swirled over and around them, until finally it sliced _through_ them like a blade made of pure ice. Fraser shivered violently, chilled to the core.

Ray grabbed Fraser with both hands. “Holy shit! You feel that?”

“I did,” Fraser said, instinctively wrapping his arms around Ray. Wind wasn’t supposed to do that. How could wind go _through_ a solid body?

“Th … that was freaky. Super freaky, and not in the good super-freaky kind of way.”

“I agree. That was … odd. Though I’m sure there’s a perfectly rational explanation…”

And then it happened. The ghostly figure of a woman materialized right in front of them, hovering three feet off the ground. Light from the street lamps shimmered through her translucent body, and where her feet should have been, there was only darkness. She wore a long, tattered, calico dress, stained with dirt, and her matted hair fell in a tangle down her shoulders. Instead of eyes, black hollows stared out of her emaciated face, unblinking.

Fraser gasped, and Ray flinched in his arms.

“Jesus Christ! You see that?” Ray pointed wildly towards the apparition. “Tell me you see that.”

“I see it,” Fraser could feel Ray’s body trembling from head to toe, vibrating like a quaking Aspen leaf.

As though she could hear them, she turned, clutched her clawed hands to her face, and let out a wail of grief. An instant later she charged, streaking towards them in a blur of light. At the last second, they leaped aside and she rushed past them, leaving a whirlwind of frigid air in her wake. Before Ray and Fraser could react she vanished, her cries of anguish fading in the dark.

“Ok, that’s it, I’m outta here.”

Ray grabbed Fraser’s hand and broke into a run, dragging him down the sidewalk, back the way they had come, towards the GTO. Ray’s vice-grip on Fraser’s hand was so strong that he had no choice but to keep up. They sprinted a short distance then slowed to a speed-walk, still headed for the car.

“Ray. Ray. Ray. Ray — !”

“What!” he yelled, not slowing down.

“We should investigate. It is in all likelihood an illusion, perhaps a Pepper’s ghost effect ...” but the words rang hollow, sounding foolish even as he said them. Fraser had to admit to himself that he had no good logical explanations for the phenomena they had encountered — the icy wind, the apparition — nothing made any sense. And another, more distant part of his brain was still wrestling with the fact that Ray had agreed they were on a date, and what that might mean.

“No way, no how. Don’t care, don’t want to know. I’ve seen enough,” Ray said, pulling Fraser along.

As they moved, shocked and shaken by the turn of events, Fraser’s thoughts spun out of control. If the ghost they had both seen was real, then what was his father? Was Bob Fraser merely a projection of Ben’s subconscious? Was this the ultimate proof that he had cracked? And, unrelated to any of that, could he trust that Ray’s display of affection was sincere? Could he ever trust his own senses again?

Fraser’s heart raced and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. The ghost of the woman didn’t frighten him, not really — but the questions did. He was even more terrified of the answers.

The line in Fraser’s mind — between what was real and what wasn’t, between sanity and insanity — was rapidly eroding, threatening to undo him completely.

As they passed a darkened clump of trees, Ray became anxious again and quickened his steps.

“But I haven’t,” Fraser said, apropos of nothing. He wrenched his arm back and yanked Ray off the path, turning and pushing him so that his back was to the trees.

“What the hell?” Ray was breathing heavily. “Haven’t what? What’re you doing?”

“I haven’t seen enough,” Fraser said. His body was shaking all over. He needed to stop. To think. To ground himself before he fell apart.

“I told you, I don’t care. We really need to get out of here.”

“We will, Ray. Please, listen to me.”

“Now, Fraser.”

“In a moment. I assure you, we are safe here.”

Ray folded his arms tightly across his chest. “How do you know we’re safe? What if that thing followed us?”

Fraser was about to launch into a dissertation on mirrors and lighting effects, but— no. A rational explanation for what had happened would be a lie, an attempt to calm Ray by distracting him with a cloud of words. Fraser was barely holding onto his own sanity as it was, and Ray was practically jumping out of his skin. No time for logic.

“Call it a hunch.”

Ray glowered at him. “Fine. But I don't like it. You’ve got thirty seconds before we’re outta here. What gives?”

“I feel the urgent need to ascertain whether you are real, and not a figment of my imagination.”

“What?” Ray raised his eyebrows, then lowered them into his interrogator’s stare. He took a step backwards, bumping into a tree trunk. Fraser had him pinned. “You _are_ unhinged.”

“I sincerely hope that’s not the case. It’s too difficult to explain right now, but — please — I need you to trust me. I need to know what’s real. That this … that we … that _you_ are alive, and _real_.” Hesitantly, he raised his right hand. “May I — may I touch you?”

“I’ve been holding your hand for the last five minutes, Fraser. What more do you want?”

“Please, Ray,” Fraser said, a quiet note of desperation in his voice. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just need ...” he trailed off, his palm a fraction of an inch away from Ray’s cheek.

Ray searched Fraser’s face. Fraser could see the conflict in his eyes, the jumble of emotions rapidly flickering across them. Ray was deciding whether to stay, or incapacitate him, or run. After an agonizing moment of silence, the set of Ray’s jaw and a quick nod confirmed that, yes, he had decided to allow this. For now.

Fraser gently placed his quivering fingers against Ray’s cheek. His skin was warm and smooth. Fraser realized that Ray had shaved tonight … for him. The thought made him shiver. Slowly, he slid his hand down Ray’s jaw and felt a prickle of stubble where he had missed a spot. He caressed Ray’s long, elegant neck, gliding his thumb over the pulse point. Fraser heard Ray’s breath catch in his throat and felt the pulse under his thumb speed up. He moved his hand again, slipping his hand under Ray’s collar until finally, he found himself cupping the back of his head, fingertips brushing into the short hairs there.

Fraser locked eyes with Ray, his gaze boring into him. In his mind, Fraser willed him to understand, silently pleading with him to see how frightened he really was.

Ray’s expression softened then, as though he finally understood something that had eluded him. It reminded Fraser of the look that often illuminated his face when he’d cracked a case.

“Hey,” Ray said, his voice low and soothing. He reached up to cover Fraser’s hand with his own, grazing the backs of Fraser’s knuckles with his fingertips. “It’s okay Fraser. I’m real. This is real. I’m not going anywhere. Everything is okay — freaky as hell, but okay.

“Show me,” Fraser said. “I need to _know_.”

Ray paused, then unzipped his jacket. He took Fraser’s left hand and placed it, palm down, over his own heart. He leaned forward so that they were nearly nose to nose. He looked into Fraser’s eyes and spoke quietly, as if to a frightened animal. “Feel that? I’m as real as they come, buddy. I’m right here. This is real. And I am _Not. Leaving. You_. Promise.”

As Ray spoke, Fraser felt the warm breath on his cheek and smelled the mingled aromas of mint, leather, sweat and aftershave filling his nostrils. He followed the rise and fall of Ray’s chest as he breathed, and sensed the beating of his heart.

Ray _was_ real. Solid. And he was right here, right now, in front of him, pulse pounding, radiating heat and life. And Fraser wanted him. Needed him. Needed to be grounded in the reality of his material, earthly existence.

Ray’s gaze flicked to Fraser’s lips and back up again. “You all right now? Haven’t gone off the deep ...”

The end of that sentence never happened, stopped by Fraser’s mouth in a quick, hot kiss that tasted of spearmint. Fraser pulled back and studied Ray’s face in the dim light, noting the look of shock in his eyes.

“I am … exceptional. And you?”

Ray took a deep breath before answering. “I’m. Uh. I wasn’t expecting that, but — yeah. I’m good,” he said, a smile curling his lips. He raised an index finger as if to say, “Just a sec,” before reaching into his jacket. He pulled out a gum wrapper, took the gum out of his mouth, mashed the sticky blob into the paper, and shoved back it into his pocket.

“Thank you for not littering.”

“Shut up,” Ray said, and leaned in.

Fraser answered with another brush of his lips against Ray’s, softer this time. Warm. Wet. Inviting. Reciprocated. When they broke the kiss, Ray let out a little moan of complaint at the separation.

“I didn’t know,” Ray said, breathless again. “I mean, I hoped … I had a hunch … but you … you never ...”

“As you have duly noted, I am abysmal at noticing relational signals. May I make it up to you?” Fraser arched an eyebrow and traced his lower lip with his tongue.

Ray laughed and hugged Fraser tightly. “Sure buddy, but, um ... not here. Let’s go some place where we can be among the living, okay?”

Fraser nodded. “Yes. Absolutely. I have had enough hauntings for one day.”

“You and me both. And Fraser -- ”

“Yes, Ray?”

“You get to pick our next date. And there’d better be no ghosts.”

“Right you are.”

They turned to leave, arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders. Together they walked towards the car, and towards the new, uncertain future into which they had just run, headlong and stumbling.

Behind them, Bob Fraser and the woman in the calico dress watched them go, and smiled.

“Thanks, Ida, I owe you one,” Bob said, touching the brim of his hat. Ida nodded and gave a tiny laugh that sounded like the tinkle of glass shattering somewhere in the distance.

Gradually, the two ghosts faded away, until just a wisp of light flickered and died where they had stood, leaving only the cold north wind, swirling and whispering its way through the dark Chicago night.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
